


Feel You, Heal Me

by tryslora



Series: Mating Games Round 2 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Community: mating_games, Healing, Knifeplay, Marking, Multi, Painplay, Punishment, Threesome - M/M/M, Werewolf Healing, post-season3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Derek needs help from Stiles to do something for Derek that Scott can't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel You, Heal Me

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Please read the tags and consider whether you want to read this fic.
> 
> The prompt for challenge 2 (round 2) at mating games is wolf kinks, and this is a story I've been wanting to write for a while. It's kinky enough, but it's not porny enough or specifically WOLF kinky enough to fit the prompt, so it became one of my rejects. Which was okay with me since that meant instead of trimming 250 words to make it fit, I could add um... 725 words and flesh it out a bit more. So anyway, yes, here's reject #2 from the wolf kink round. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I'm just playing with them.
> 
> P.S. Anon commenting turned off. If you want to troll, do it under your own name, thanks.

“You want me to _what_?” Stiles looks between his friends, trying to read their expressions. Scott’s stance is relaxed, his arms crossed but loose, feet slightly spread. Derek stands behind him, hands clasped in front of himself and his head hung just a little, eyes focused on the floor. None of it helps him understand what’s been said. “Is this some kind of tease, like Danny and the virginity thing? Because you two are the best bros I’ve got at this point, and that would be cruel.”

“It’s not a tease.” Derek’s voice is low. “Just hear him out. Please.”

“What if I want to hear it from you?” Stiles asks, because this whole thing doesn’t make sense. It’s surreal, like he’s side-stepped into some kind of bizarroverse. “Dude, if you’re the one I’m supposed to be flaying, I’d kind of like your explicit permission.”

“Not flaying,” Scott says firmly. “Not exactly. We’re _trusting_ you with this. None of this goes past this room. Ever.”

There’s a flash of wary hurt in Derek’s expression, and that alone is enough to get to Stiles, even if he wouldn’t already promise the world to Scott if he asked. “Of course.” Stiles mimes zipping his lips and tossing the key away.

“Good.” Scott flashes a quick smile, his usually happy puppy look before it goes serious and his voice drops, heavy. “Derek,” Scott says, and Derek looks over at him immediately. “Strip,” Scott orders. “Then get in position.”

“Wait, we’re starting?” Stiles can barely breathe as Derek does exactly that, clothes dropped to the side before he lowers himself to his knees, legs spread and ass settled against his heels, hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed. He doesn’t say a word. Stiles may not be a werewolf, but he swears he can feel the expectant tension rising in the room. And fuck if it isn’t arousing. Somewhere in the back of Stiles’s mind Derek is still a reluctant alpha, and seeing him on his knees— _submissive_ —is a heady thing.

Scott moves behind Derek, claws tipping his fingers before he slides them across the nape of his neck, leaving a light trail of pink marks behind. “I’m an alpha,” he says quietly. “I can make him hurt, but I can also _harm_ him, in ways he can’t heal. But we trust _you_ , and you can cut him. You can draw blood and you can mark him, and it will _heal_ afterward. I need you to be my hands, Stiles. I need you to help me free Derek’s mind.”

Stiles licks his lips while he thinks. He’s still not sure he understands this, and it’s definitely not something he’d ever considered before. But it’s Scott and Derek and he trusts them completely. If they say Derek needs this, then Derek needs it. So that means Stiles is all in, and there’s only one question left. “Do you need me to strip?”

“Yeah.”

It’s not that odd, really, throwing clothes off while Scott does the same. It’s like a locker room, or getting ready for bed during a sleepover. Stiles tries not to think about how different it really is, but that becomes impossible when Derek moves, spreading his legs further, and Stiles can see a hint of his asshole glistening, like he’s been opened and is ready to be fucked.

Stiles goes from sort of interested to rock hard in seconds.

“Here.” Scott presses a knife into his hand, the edge jagged and rough. 

It’s not the kind of knife designed to make a quick slice; it’s going to _hurt_ when Stiles drags it through Derek’s skin. For a moment he rethinks this whole thing, because Derek isn’t the only one that’s going to feel it, and Stiles isn’t sure he can do it. He hesitates, knife held out until Scott wraps his fingers around Stiles’s wrist and brings it down, pressing the blade to Derek’s skin.

Stiles wants to ask _why_ , because they haven’t said. He wants to know what’s inside of Derek that makes him want to hurt like this? Why does he want to be cut, to be damaged? Does this heal? Does it help? Scott says it will free Derek’s mind, and Stiles is _trying_ to get that. He tilts the knife carefully, feeling the way it bites into the skin, watching the blood well up as Derek pushes back into the touch with a low whine.

It reminds him of the Nogitsune abruptly—the sword slid through Scott’s skin and into his body, twisting in the cavity before Stiles brought it up—and he tries to backpedal, but Scott is right behind him, holding him, hard cock pressed against Stiles’s ass.

“It’s okay,” Scott whispers, drawing his hand down Stiles’s arm. “It’s okay. He wants this. I want this. It’s _different_ , and it’s _okay_.”

Stiles knows what it feels like to thrust a blade in, to let blood spill over his hands, and he doesn’t know if he can do it again. He _knows_ Scott knows this. “Derek?” he says, throat tight. He dimly hears Scott tell Derek to speak, then the low rumbling whine of assent—a long, low _please_ that _guts_ Stiles, and he doesn’t think, just pulls the knife across skin, letting it split the first layers and open Derek until blood flows free.

Derek arches under the touch, body bowing with a soft cry; Scott touches him and Derek eases beneath that, pain seeping away as Derek sighs in relief.

“Again,” Scott says, and Stiles does, trying not to _think_. Again and again, he _does_ , until a pattern emerges in the lines of blood on Derek’s skin and Derek is whining, swaying, his eyes unfocused and his body loose and relaxed.

He looks beautiful, Stiles thinks. Happy in some strange way and it makes him seem younger, like he’s barely older than them. All the weight he carries is gone, bled away in a series of stripes across his back.

“Stop.” Scott slips the knife from Stiles’s hand, putting it aside while he touches Derek’s shoulder with his free hand. “Derek, we’re going to stop now. Are you all right?”

Derek looks up slowly, the color of his eyes faded to a thin strip of hazel around the wide pupils. He nods once, gaze resting on Stiles.

It’s unnerving and still arousing, the way Derek stares at him. Stiles is still unbelievably hard, and maybe he’ll think about that later, how _hurting_ someone felt so damned good to him. He bites his lip, then licks it, and Derek follows the path of his tongue with his eyes.

“Derek.” Scott’s fingers skate over his back, lightly tripping over wounds that are already healing to warm pink lines, the blood still staining his skin. “Do you want to say thank you to Stiles? You may speak.”

Derek nods again, never looking away from Stiles. “You enjoyed this,” he whispers, and Stiles flushes.

“Yeah,” he admits, and he feels the guilt at that, because maybe that’s some remnant of the Nogitsune still in his heart, making him like pain.

The corner of Derek’s mouth tilts slightly. “It’s okay. I liked it too, and I needed it. It helps.”

His tongue flicks out and Stiles finds himself watching it, and Derek drops his gaze to Stiles’s crotch. “I can take care of that for you.”

He should say no. He might be naked, but this isn’t really about sex, is it? Maybe being naked is part of making Derek feel better because he’s obviously usually naked when he and Scott… except, Derek’s ass. Glistening. Like he was lubing it up with his fingers before Stiles ever got here.

Oh fuck.

Stiles nods several times. “Please. Only if you want to. I mean, I don’t want to come between the two of you, but right now I might go off if you breathe on me.”

“I won’t let you get off too quickly,” Derek murmurs. He digs his fingers into Stiles’s hips, pulling him close enough to swallow him down and _oh fuck_ that feels good.

Stiles tangles his fingers in Derek’s hair, hips stuttering and thrusting harder than he means to, but Derek groans and it seems like maybe that’s okay, that it feels _good_ to him, so Stiles does it again. He tests Derek’s limits, tries to figure out what Derek likes and it seems almost like the harder he goes, the happier Derek is.

It’s a little like porn come to life.

“You’re so good, Derek,” Scott murmurs, moving behind him, hands sliding across Derek’s back with the black lines sliding up his arms. “I’m going to fuck you now, okay? Are you relaxed enough? Do you want me to get you off?”

Derek nods, and Scott hitches his hips up, slides into him easily and Stiles remembers how _prepared_ he was. He groans, thrusting forward in time with Scott, Derek swaying between them, his lips bruised and back still red. It’s the sloppy sounds, the little whines of pleasure that get to Stiles and he can’t hold back, unloading down Derek’s throat. He hears the groan as Scott finishes, then they both sink to the ground, pulling Derek in to hold him while Scott strokes his cock until Derek finally comes with a soft moan.

They curl into each other, Derek clinging to Stiles while they both comfort him gently until Derek’s breath eases and his body is limp and quiet.

“He needs this,” Scott whispers. “It helps him. Thank you.”

Stiles has never seen Derek like this—seen either of them like this—and it tugs at his heart to see his best friends sated and _happy_ and to know he took part. He may not fully understand _why_ but he can see the result, and that’s worth it. “Any time you need me, just call, okay?”

Derek nuzzles in close, rubbing his cheek on Stiles’s shoulder, and Scott smiles at him. “Definitely. Love you, bro.”

“Love you too, Scotty.” Stiles clasps his hand, pulls it to his heart where Derek is already pressed close. “Love you both.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, please feel free to come visit (and talk to me!) [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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